Setting it Right
by Sherlockian87
Summary: The Phone Call had opened old wounds. It had made them fresh. She had thought that even though they weren't healed, per se, they were at least stitched back together. But The Phone Call had ripped those stitches as if they were made of gossamer, opening old, old wounds. (Set after The Final Problem - basically my take on what happened afterwards)


**This came to me last night as I was falling asleep.**

 **And today while I was at work I wrote it up on my phone (shhhhh...)**

 **This ficlet takes place shortly after THAT PHONE CALL and the whole kerfuffle with Sherrinford, etc.**

 **There is some angst (ok, quite a bit of it), but also some fluff.**

 **Hope you like it!**

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 _The Phone Call_ had opened old wounds. It had made them fresh. She had thought that even though they weren't healed, per se, they were at least stitched back together. But _The Phone Call_ had ripped those stitches as if they were made of gossamer, opening old, old wounds.

She felt raw. Broken. Disrespected.

How could he have taken it that far? How could he have played with her feelings like that? What could have possibly made him be so cruel?

He was better than that. She knew it. She could see him, like no one else could. She knew the heart that he kept so deeply hidden, was there. It existed. He had shown it to her, shared it with her, so many times. But now, he had gone and done … _this._

There had to be a reason. There was always a reason. It was this thought that broke her further. That left her in a heap on her kitchen floor, shaking and crying as if she would never stop.

Somehow, in some way, she had managed to make it to her bed, tears still falling. Toby had followed her in, purring loudly, sensing her distress. When she collapsed upon the bed, he jumped up beside her and curled into the curve of her body. He continued to purr, giving her the comfort he only knew how to give.

She hadn't thought it possible, but eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep. She was oblivious to the hours that passed, and it wasn't until there was a sudden dip in the bed that she woke with a start. A familiar silhouette met her gaze the moment she opened her eyes.

"Sher-Sherlock?" she stammered out.

"Molly … please … don't send me away. Please don't. I need to-I need to explain. Please let me explain."

Her heart thrummed in her chest as she slowly sat up. She had never heard him sound so broken, so raw …. so _human._

"Sherlock?" She slowly reached out, placing her hand on his arm. He was trembling.

"Please. I can't lose you. I can't lose you." He repeated these words over and over again, his voice a ragged whisper.

She moved onto her knees, facing him. "Sherlock …" She slowly slipped her arms around him, cradling the back of his head with her hand. He sank into her, burying his face in her neck. He was shaking, as if he had caught a terrible chill.

"I can't lose you," he continued to murmur.

"Shhhh … you haven't lost me Sherlock. I'm here. I'm here."

He held on to her so tightly, as if he was terrified she would somehow disappear. She massaged the back of his head, running her fingers through his curls, just the way that she knew he liked. She continued to whisper softly to him, trying to calm him down. Wondering to herself, _what happened to you, Sherlock?_

Eventually he did become calm. His trembling abated. But still he held on to her. She wasn't sure how much time had passed.

"You smell terrible," she said to him.

He let out a hollow laugh, his hold on her loosening ever so slightly, just enough so that she could lean back and look at him. The faint glow from the street lights gave her just enough brightness to see his face. He looked to her like a lost little boy. Afraid, uncertain.

"I'm here," she told him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded, the tension in his body ebbing slightly.

"How about a bath?" she asked. "Then you can tell me whatever it is you need to."

He nodded again, and allowed her to lead him into her bathroom. While Molly filled the tub, he stripped out of his clothes, the dirty and sweat-soaked items falling to the floor. He moved towards the bath, allowing her to help him step into the warm water. He let out a weary sigh as he sank down into the water. Molly sat on the floor beside the tub, watching him.

"Your hands!" she exclaimed, noticing them for the first time. A look of horror on her face.

He glanced down at them, noting that they were covered in multiple scrapes. There was dried blood coating his knuckles.

"Let me clean them," she said. She got up and retrieved her First Aid kit.

He leaned back against the wall of the tub, silently allowing her to gently take his hand in hers and clean the blood away.

"There's splinters," she murmured. She took out sterilized tweezers and needle, and carefully and deftly removed each one. When she was done she told him that she'd put some ointment on his cuts when he was finished with his bath.

After wetting his now clean hands he ran his fingers through his curls, then scrubbed at his face. He jumped slightly when he suddenly felt a cloth move over his arm. Dropping his hands away he looked down and saw that Molly was washing him. Under any other circumstances he would have been annoyed by this, but right now he was not. She continued to move the soaped-up cloth up and over his shoulder, down onto his back. He leaned forward, giving her greater access as he continued to wet his hair.

They both stayed silent throughout the duration of his bath. Even after he towelled himself dry, they still did not speak. He followed her back into her bedroom, foregoing putting on pyjamas, slipping beneath the sheets entirely naked. She removed her clothes before joining him beneath the covers, knowing that this was what he wanted, needed.

There was something visceral about his desire to be skin to skin to her. They always laid in bed like this, even when they weren't _sleeping_ together.

She gathered him to her, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His skin felt warm and soft against hers.

"I don't know where to start," he said, the heat of his breath dancing across the skin of her shoulder.

"Perhaps at the beginning?" she suggested.

And so he did.

He told her about how he discovered that he had a sister, Eurus, that he didn't remember. That she had pretended to be Culverton's daughter, and John's therapist. That she had blown up Baker Street. That she was incredibly intelligent, to a frightening extent. That she was capable of re-programming people so that they did her bidding, and that this was how she managed to leave Sherrinford; the facility that was supposed to keep her cut off, away from the world.

He told her that Mycroft used their sister to help stop terrorist plots, simply by allowing her only ten minutes on twitter. But that his use of her came with a price. She required treats. And that one of these treats was Moriarty. Five minutes alone with him, unsupervised.

Molly grew tense the moment she heard his name.

"He is gone," Sherlock said in an assuring tone. "But even from beyond the grave he managed to wreak havoc. We don't know what they discussed, but I do know that it was Eurus' plan the entire time for us to come to her in Sherrinford."

He smoothed his hand across Molly's back, his fingertips tracing the bones of her spinal column.

"We were rats. Rats caught in a trap. Moving from room to room," he murmured softly. "She toyed with us, taunted us. Killing without a thought or a care."

"Killing?" Molly questioned.

"Yes. She kidnapped the Governor's wife, and told us that if we didn't kill the Governor, she would kill his wife. Neither one of us could do it, so the Governor shot himself. She killed the wife anyway because we didn't do what we were told."

A shudder shook Molly's body. Sherlock pulled her closer.

"Then there were three brothers," he continued. "One of them was a murderer, I had to deduce which one. She dropped all three of them into the sea."

"Oh God." Molly pressed her face into his chest.

"In the next room there was a single coffin. I had to deduce who it was for." He took in a shaky breath. "There was a nameplate on the cover. But what was engraved was not a name. It was three words."

He felt more than heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Eurus led me to believe that if I didn't convince you to say those three words she would blow up your flat. She had killed the others without a thought, how could I not believe her?"

Molly kept her face hidden against his chest.

"I watched you, Eurus had cameras in your flat. In your kitchen. I watched as you ignored my first call. Eurus had a timer, the seconds ticked by, as I watched, waited, begged for you to answer." He swallowed thickly, trying to slow his racing heart. "I didn't-this isn't how I wanted to tell you. It was not how I had planned it. I've never wanted to hurt you, but I know I have, many times. But thank you … thank you for making me say it first."

Molly raised her head, leaning back to look at him. There were tears in her eyes. "I never would have done that if I had known, if I had any idea of what you were going through."

He cupped her face in his hands. "But you didn't, you had no idea. You were angry with me, and had every right to be. But I love you Molly, I do. The first time I said it it didn't hit me how true the words were, but the second time, the second time was when I realised how much I meant it. I love you. Even though I don't deserve you, I love you."

She kissed him, unable to stop herself. After a brief moment he kissed her back.

"I love you too, Sherlock. I love you so much," she said, breathless.

He gave her another kiss, this one gentle, tender. She covered his hands with hers, bringing them forward so that she could place kisses on the cuts.

"How did this happen?" she questioned softly.

"The coffin, I destroyed it. After Eurus hung up on you, I thought … I thought that that was it, that I had truly lost you. That you would never be able to forgive me for what I did to you.

"I was angry. Angry at her, but more so angry with myself. Angry that I had been such a coward. That I had never taken the chance before to tell you how I felt. I thought I lost you."

Molly held him close, nuzzling at his neck. "But you didn't," she said gently. "You didn't lose me. I'm here, and I still love you. I was upset, but now that I know, that I understand … it's all right."

Sherlock shook his head. "But it isn't, it isn't all right. None of that should have happened. She should never have been able to do what she did."

Molly waited, knowing that there was more to what he was saying.

"She killed my best friend," his voice was thick with emotion as he said this. "Victor. She killed him when we were children. Eurus killed him."

"Oh Sherlock," she whispered.

His body began to shake as sob after sob suddenly poured out of him, no longer able to hold them hold back. Molly held him in her arms, allowing him his cry, knowing that he needed it, and not thinking any less of him for it.

Gradually his sobs began to slow, tapering off into hiccuping sniffles. Molly started to move away from him, but Sherlock let out a noise of distress, tightening his hold on her.

"I just wanted to get you some tissues. I wasn't going to go anywhere," she explained to him, gesturing to the tissue box on her bedside table.

"Oh."

He kept one arm around her, letting go of her with the other. She rolled onto her back, reaching out to grab the box. He took it from her when she handed it to him, and rather enjoyed the fact that she snuggled up against him, tucking herself beneath his chin.

After drying off his face and blowing his nose he settled down, putting his arms around her once more.

"Thank you Molly," he said softly, before planting a kiss to the top of her head.

"You're welcome," she said. "Do you feel better?"

"Mmm. Surprisingly yes."

"Sometimes crying is necessary. There is no shame in it. 'Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive.'"

He buried his nose in her hair. "That's from Jane Eyre is not?"

She smiled, remembering when he had hid in her flat for several days, after his _death,_ and had perused her books.

"Yes, it is," she answered. "I'm surprised you didn't delete that."

"I've never deleted anything in regards to you," he stated.

She raised her head in order to kiss him. He pulled her on top of him, her legs falling to either side of his hips. He smoothed his hands across her back, crossing his arms, and locking her against him as their kiss deepened. Eventually they parted for air, and she rested her forehead against his.

"You should get some sleep," she said to him. "You've been through so much." She gave him a gentle kiss, then slid off and stretched out beside him.

He moved onto his side and curled into her. "Will you let me stay?"

"Of course. Stay for as long as you like."

"Then I think I'll stay forever."

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 **Well ... there you have it. Just one of many explanations as to what happened between them after all of ... _that_. **

**Hope you liked what I wrote!**


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